


in his memory

by onetrueobligation



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: M/M, Short Story, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 08:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12164832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetrueobligation/pseuds/onetrueobligation
Summary: Anatole copes with the sudden news of Dolokhov's death.





	in his memory

Anatole had always had faith in Dolokhov. He knew Dolokhov was fearless and strong. He knew he would fight the war until it was won. He didn't expect the war to win.

The letter was delivered to Dolokhov's sister, who came to Anatole's door. He'd only met her once, and her appearance was just as suspicious as the tears in the corners of her eyes. "Forgive me, Prince Kuragin. I received a letter yesterday and thought it was my right to tell you, being his closest friend..." And she told him everything, and it hit Anatole like a bullet.

"Friend", the woman had said. Something like that. Anatole and Dolokhov had always been in that uncomfortable space between friends and lovers. Both had simply lived on thinking that one day, one of them would close that distance and they would finally be one whole, something greater than themselves. But now there was no hope of Anatole ever confessing his feelings.

He still had not cried. He hated himself for it, wondered how he could be so heartless, but no matter how hard he tried, tears would not come. Instead, he spent hours sitting in his study in silence, eyes out of focus. He forgot to wash, forgot to eat, spent days without leaving the house or speaking to anyone. He wasn't seen again in public for weeks.

Anatole was still in his dream-like state as he struggled to come to terms with the fact that Fedya, his Fedya, was gone forever. People offered their condolences and he responded with a dull, dead-eyed "Thank you". He lost weight; his sister had to force him to eat. The skin on his face clung tightly to his bones, and even the Rostovs began to worry. But at some point in the torturous grief-stricken life he was now living, he realised how pitiful he was.

Everything he'd done had all been for nothing. Anatole had always lived like he would always be young and free. The death of Dolokhov was a wake-up call to his mortality. And so, one night just after his sister left, he took a small glass bottle and filled it with vodka and just a tad of arsenic. It wasn't much, but it was enough to do the job. "To Fedya," he declared, and took a swig.

And just before it all went dark, he was sure he caught a glimpse of Fedya smiling back at him.


End file.
